


07. Muse

by moonyredmoon



Series: LJ 100_prompts 30 Table A [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Insecure Clarke, Movie Night, Short, Sketches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonyredmoon/pseuds/moonyredmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is obsessed with her best friend's brother, and it shows in her art.</p>
<p>Part of a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke held her nose a few inches from her sketchbook, scratching furiously at the page with her pencil. It was balanced against her knees to keep her hands free and hide the material from prying eyes. Not that it mattered; Octavia knew exactly what--or who--she was drawing.

“Why do I even bother putting in a movie?” she sighed, glancing back at Clarke from the armchair she was sprawled across. They were watching _Scott Pilgrim VS the World_ , except Clarke was focusing more on her art than the television.

“I’ve seen it plenty of times, I don’t need to actually look at it to know what’s going on,” she offered, and Octavia rolled her eyes.

“Sure, Clarke,” she said, looking back to the screen. “Oh, I should probably warn you that a certain someone is home for winter break.” When Clarke looked at her with wide eyes she wiggled her eyebrows with a grin.

“What?” Her mouth felt dry; she must have misheard.

“Bellamy is home for a few weeks.”

She felt faint. “He’s _here_?”

Octavia laughed. “Calm down, girl. Not at the moment. He just texted me; he’ll be here in like five minutes.”

Clarke looked down at her sketchbook and frowned at the handsome face, captivating smile, and curled locks she had drawn hundreds of times. Bellamy filled the pages, and now the flesh and blood man would be here, and she had hardly any warning. For one, she would need to be a little more subtle. Clarke turned to a fresh page and held the pencil in her hand, not sure if she remembered how to draw anything else.

“Don’t worry, Clarke, he probably won’t say more than hello before going to his room and doing whatever shit he does in his free time.” She adjusted her position, flinging a leg over the side of the armchair and moving one of the pillows. Clarke didn’t say anything, because no words came to her. All that cycled through her mind was that beautiful face; the thought of seeing him in person again terrified her.

“I might be sick,” she muttered, so stiff she thought she might snap her pencil in half.

“Just don’t be weird and you’ll be fine.”

Clarke looked up at her with a look of worry. “Don’t be weird?”

“Like what you’re doing right now, being all paranoid and crazy-town; don’t do that. Just relax. I’m fine with your insane crush on my brother, okay? But if you are obvious and make him clearly uncomfortable then I will need to separate you two while he’s in town.”

Clarke nodded, the nausea already passing. “I get it.”

Octavia smiled. “Though if you are good and not crazy, then I can arrange some more hangouts with the three of us, because I’m the best friend ever.”

Butterflies filled Clarke’s stomach. That sounded wonderful. “Yes, you are.” Clarke smiled slightly and turned back to her sketchbook, doing her best to avoid drawing people on this page; she knew Bellamy’s features would creep in from habit.

A few minutes later the front door opened loudly and Clarke jumped, glancing back to the entrance behind the couch every few seconds to avoid blatantly staring when he appeared. There were some sounds coming from the kitchen, but Bellamy would need to walk through the living room to go anywhere else in the house. Octavia tossed a pillow at her and Clarke turned around with a start.

_“Don’t be crazy,”_ she hissed.

With a small nod she sighed and turned back to her sketchbook. The skeleton of her tree was barely formed when he appeared behind the couch without warning.

“I love this movie,” he said, making Clarke jump. Octavia shot her a look and she did her best to compose herself. Glancing back at Bellamy, she saw that he had a small plate with what looked like a makeshift quesadilla on it. His messy hair looked damp, and his grey shirt was definitely wet in places, clinging wonderfully to his tight body.

“You can watch if you want,” Octavia said without looking up.

Clarke glanced at him and smiled as he sat down on the couch next to her. Well she was actually sitting on the ground and leaning against the couch so he wasn’t exactly next to her, but it was close enough to make her heart rate speed up.

“Hey, Clarke,” he nodded to her and her heart soared.

“Hey, Bellamy.” She searched her brain for something interesting to say, but all she could come up with was, “How’s college?”

He shrugged, taking a bite of his quesadilla. “Fine. Glad I’m on break.”

Clarke nodded and turned toward the television, watching with the others while painfully aware of her proximity to Bellamy. She could just reach over and touch him if she wanted too; not that she did. Well, she did, but she wouldn’t. That would be too crazy for everyone.

"God, Bellamy, you reek," said Octavia shortly, screwing up her face. "Were you running a marathon or something?"

Bellamy laughed. "I was at the gym." He raised him arm a sniffed and shrugged. "Come on, O, it's not bad. Clarke doesn't mind--do you, Clarke?" He grinned at her, and she was caught off guard. In all honesty she didn't smell anything unpleasant, just the slight aroma of pure masculinity. The pheromones must have conquered her nose.

"Of course she doesn't, because she is too damn polite to say anything," Octavia said before Clarke could string words together. "Go change." She gave him a look, and Clarke smiled softly to herself. It was always so entertaining to see how much power Octavia had over Bellamy, even though she was so much younger than him. It was kind of sweet.

Bellamy threw up his hands. "Okay! Fine!" He playfully shoved Octavia on his way out of the living room and she pushed him back. He laughed as he walked up the stairs, and soon Clarke heard the water running. Her heart sank, thinking that meant he was done with the movie, but shortly after he came back down in a fresh shirt and pyjama pants. His hair glistened as he sat back down on the couch, slightly closer than before; unless that was Clarke's imagination.

After no more than ten minutes she couldn’t help but go back to sketching. With the movie playing in the background, Ramona and Scott snuck into her scene. It was so relaxing to just let the pencil glide across the page and create beauty, and it was easier to avoid drawing the man next to her when she had concrete characters to channel.

When Scott Pilgrim defeated the vegan ex-boyfriend, Clarke could feel Bellamy lean in toward her and her body went rigid. “That’s really good,” he said quietly enough that Octavia didn’t hear.

“Th-thanks,” said Clarke, pulling the sketchbook closer to her when his eyes lingered for too long. He chuckled and leaned back into the couch, but his eyes stayed on her page. She could feel the heat growing in her cheeks, but did her best to ignore it. The lights were out; Bellamy wouldn’t be able to see anyway.

“Can I see?” He asked. The voice was at her shoulder now. When had he scooted closer? She hadn’t noticed him move. Instinctively she pulled the sketchbook to her chest again, covering the picture.

“It’s not any good,” she started slowly, glancing over to Octavia for help; she was too entranced in the film to notice. “You wouldn’t want to see.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, and she looked up at his gorgeous face. The light from the television danced off his eyes. They looked sincere, but that didn’t matter. “I’m serious, you’re really talented. I know art students who would kill for your technique.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, but she couldn’t just hand over her sketchbook. If he so much as turned the page back he would see only himself. There was no way he would ever look at her the same, and Clarke could already see him jumping up in disgust and shouting at her, or laughing in her face, telling Octavia to stay away from her, or even just leaving without a word. All the scenarios terrified her; she couldn’t even imagine a positive outcome.

After a long moment of silence he shrugged. “You don’t have to show me. It’s personal.”

Before she could stop herself, she stammered a response. “No, it’s fine, you can see it.” When the words came out her heart froze and her mind screamed at her, but that didn’t stop her from handing over the pages that held the deepest caverns of her soul.

Bellamy’s hand brushed hers when he took the book, gingerly, more so than she would have expected. He motioned for her to sit next to him. When she shook her head, he shot her a look that she had only ever seen on Octavia. Apparently the Blakes shared more than just great genes. “Really? Come on, I won’t bite.”

Clarke bit her lip and raised herself up onto the couch, extremely aware of the exact distance between their legs. His twitched and brushed against hers; she held her breath, not sure if she would survive this close to him for long. _Calm down, Clarke. Don’t be crazy._

“Seriously, this is great,” he said, letting his eyes wander around her landscape and settle on Ramona and Scott. He laughed. “Very fitting. Did you really just start this now?”

Clarke nodded, clearing her throat a little. “A few minutes before you came in.”

“Wow.” He nodded slowly, and started to flip the page back.

“No--” Clarke started, but it was already too late. Her heart sank as they both stared at the facial and figure sketches littering the page without a real composition. For anyone else it would be nothing more than an artist practicing features; completely harmless. Except Clarke knew she was good enough that Bellamy would recognize himself. After all, she had been practicing his features every day for over a year.

“Wow,” he said again after the longest minute of Clarke’s life. She wanted to bolt out of the room, or scream, or defend herself, but she just sat in silence, eyes wide in fear. “You’re…,” he cleared his throat, “You’re a--you’re an amazing artist.” He sighed and looked down, peering timidly at the next page. Clarke closed her eyes tightly, knowing he would only see more of the same. She could see that image in her minds eye now; his face looking back with a laughing smile that touched his eyes. It was one of her favorites.

He wasn't laughing now; he wasn't even smiling. A crease of contemplation formed between his eyebrows. It was a real fight for Clarke, not to store that expression in her bank to draw later.

She was crazy. There was no pretending now; no covering up her crush that was borderline stalking. She was crazy for Bellamy, and now he knew.

He put the page back down and turned to her work in progress, handing the sketchbook back to her. Clarke wouldn’t look him in the eyes, just sank back down off the couch to her original position, trying not to cry or scream or vomit.

Before the movie was over he left. “I’m really tired,” he said when he stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, old man,” said Octavia with a grin. Bellamy laughed and leaned over to give her a hug, messing up her hair with his other hand. She smacked him, which only made him laugh harder. “God, you’re such a dork. Leave us be!” Clarke couldn’t help but watch as he walked away. His smiling gaze lingered on her for too long before he turned and headed up the stairs.

As soon as Clarke heard the door shut she scooted over next to Octavia’s armchair.

“What’s wrong Clarke?” she asked. One look at the worry in her friend’s eyes and she muted the movie for the first time that night.

An eternity seemed to pass before words came out of her open mouth. “He knows,” she managed finally. “He saw. I’m so stupid, I don’t know what to do.”

Octavia slid off the chair and sat down next to her. “Hey, it’s okay.” She crossed her legs and grabbed Clarke’s shaking hands, squeezing tight. “I know you see him very, _very_ differently than I do for some reason that I will never fully comprehend, but my brother is actually a really sweet guy when you get to know him. What exactly did he see?”

Clarke looked up, thinking back. It was painful. “Two pictures.”

“That’s it?”

“Okay, two pages full of sketches. Of him. In various moods and poses.” She screwed up her face, feeling sick again. The wave of nausea passed when Octavia squeezed again.

She sighed and pursed her lips, visibly thinking. “Honestly, he might be a little surprised right now, possibly even weirded out, but he’s not going to be a jerk about it.” She let go and Clarke let out a deep breath. “I think maybe you should have a talk with him and do some explaining.”

“There isn’t much to explain, Octavia. I think it’s pretty clear.”

“Not even, you could have so many reasons for that. He didn’t see your entire sketchbook, so he has no idea how deep this thing goes. You could always explain it away if you want, or you can tell him the truth. Either way, you need to talk to him because otherwise you are going to look like you want to puke every time you come over to my house and I just can’t have that.” She laughed to herself. "I was lying before, I don't have the energy to keep you away from this house for three whole weeks."

Clarke laughed meekly and Octavia smiled. “Okay.”

“But not tonight, because sneaking into someone’s room when they are sleeping is pretty much the creepiest thing you could do, creepster.” She grinned and stuck out her tongue between her teeth and Clarke smacked her on the shoulder.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke tries to talk to Bellamy. It doesn't go the way she expected.

_How did I get here?_ Clarke didn’t know. The past events of the day flashed through her head, but they were all blurred; distant, like a dream. Octavia’s phone call was the last memory solidly there, telling her to come over. Bellamy would be there. They would talk.

That was hours ago. Bellamy was here now, but they weren’t talking. Where was Octavia? _Gone. Right._ She left so Clarke could speak with Bellamy. _“He wants to talk with you,”_ she had said. Clarke remembered that. After lunch she left, and Bellamy brought her to his room. But they still weren’t talking.

He sat across from her now, in his office chair with Clarke tense and anxious on the edge of his bed. This wasn’t the first time she had been there, but it was the first time she was invited. She had timidly tried his bed last time too, before scurrying out of his room when she heard Octavia stomping up the stairs. It was as comfortable as she remembered, but she was too stiff to enjoy it now.

With that embarrassing memory playing through her head, it was impossible to make eye contact. Nervousness heated her face. His beautiful eyes watched her; she wished he would look at something else. No matter how long he stared, she couldn’t be the one to talk first. The words wouldn’t form in her mind, let alone on her tongue.

Except he was without a doubt expecting her to speak. Octavia had lured him into a room with her with some sort of promise of an explanation, otherwise he wouldn’t be there. He had no reason to humor her. He had no obligation to her. He probably had no desire to even be in the same room as her. Clarke was imposing on his space.

Bellamy cleared his throat, and Clarke looked at him properly for the first time since arriving at the house. He was so beautiful. A painful knot formed in her chest when his perfect lips parted. “Octavia said you wanted to talk to me,” he said slowly, watching her carefully. She didn’t let him see the fear that coursed through her.

“Yes,” she said, wanting to say more; the words wouldn’t come. All she needed to do was lie, or play down her obsession, or just laugh it off. All she needed to do was say something so he would stop looking at her like that. Normally any attention from Bellamy would be cause for celebration, but those eyes were filled with expectation that she didn’t know how to satisfy. One look from him and every inch of her was frozen in an uncomfortable heat.

“I’m listening,” he added, but all she could do was smile unconvincingly and nod. The silence was infuriating; she failed to hide and now she was failing to explain. This was her only chance for redemption and it was slipping away through her weak, paralyzed fingers.

She opened her mouth to speak, but after a moment without a single word coming out Bellamy spoke instead. “Look, Clarke, if you don’t want to talk to me you don’t have to. Octavia said you did, but clearly she was wrong…”

“No!” she managed loudly, the volume of the word surprising herself as well as Bellamy. “I do want to talk.”

Bellamy sat back and watched her. “Okay, then talk.” Despite her inability to cooperate and function like a normal human being, Bellamy didn’t look annoyed or angry at all, just patiently interested.

“Okay, I’ll talk.” She opened and closed her mouth a few more times, but when Bellamy went to speak again she raised her hand to silence him. “I’m trying,” she whispered, knowing that she was going about this all wrong. It was pathetic to make this such a big deal, but she just didn’t know how to get the words out. Right now she was treating her crush like she had cancer or something, and Bellamy’s reaction would already be affected by her presentation or lack thereof. It was too late now to fix that.

“I draw you sometimes,” she spat out, blinking furiously and trying to avoid Bellamy’s strong gaze. With those words it already felt like a weight was lifted, despite the furious fluttering in her chest.

“Sometimes?” he asked, and she sighed.

“Maybe more than sometimes.” Why was it so hard for her to lie? Now another piece of incriminating evidence was out there, and it was because of her own admission. Stupid. Weak. Bellamy didn’t seemed nearly as concerned as she was.

“Why?” he asked after a long pause of visible contemplation.

“Why what?” She knew what he was asking, she just didn’t want to answer.

“Why do you draw me?”

A wave of nausea crashed into her, but Clarke held her composure while the blood drained from her face. How was it so cold and hot at the same time? “Because, uh…” _Shit._ “Because you’re beautiful.” She tried to say it in a nonchalant way, like she told all the boys that, except the crack in her voice gave it away. _Double shit._

Bellamy smiled. “Thank you.” He still didn’t look scared. Maybe Octavia had prepared him without Clarke’s knowledge.

“You’re beautiful, and... I like you.” The words tingled on her tongue, and the moment they were out she felt both terrified and relieved. She wanted to be confident in her confession, but she couldn’t find the courage to look Bellamy in the eyes; she feared what she might see in them.

“I know,” he sighed.

That snapped her out of it, pulling her eyes up to his face. No fear was there; no resentment or revulsion. “You know?” Her mouth felt dry. He just nodded. “How long?”

To her surprise he laughed, and she frowned; this wasn’t in any way amusing. “Well, how long have you been into me?” That wasn’t fair. She didn’t answer, even though he kept looking at her with expectation in his eyes. “You can’t ask me that without backing me into a corner. Maybe it’s been three years, but I think it’s been five. I could say two months, but it’s actually been two years. Either I look conceited or oblivious.” He smiled.

_What a load of crap._ “It’s been a while.”

Bellamy nodded, apparently accepting that answer. In actuality, it had been about four years now. Four years… Clarke suddenly felt very pathetic. “How long have I made appearances in your art?”

“Not as long.” She looked down at her hands and couldn’t help but laugh at herself slightly. All the fear and dread and nausea, and Bellamy was being the most understanding person in the world. Of course he was; he was perfect. “Long enough.”

“Whatever you expected from me… I’m not angry or freaked out. I had an idea that you, I don’t know, liked me in that way. I got used to the idea. I’m okay with it.” He shrugged. Clarke wished she could stop blushing, now that her confession was over and she had nothing to hide. “The fact that you draw me, now that is pretty cool. I wasn’t lying when I saw you’re an amazing artist. It was like looking in a mirror.” A grin spread across his face; it was infectious.

“Good. I was hoping you wouldn’t make me stop.”

“Of course not. I’m happy to be your muse.”

The relief was overwhelming. Happiness and a strange discomfort and leftover fear seeped in, making sitting there nearly unbearable. Bellamy was perfect and beautiful and sitting right there. He knew that she liked him and was completely okay with it; in fact, he liked it. He liked her art. He thought enough about her to form an opinion. He knew her secret, and she wasn’t catatonic, suicidal, or scarred for life.

He suddenly looked upset. “Are you okay?” Bellamy sat up and was suddenly next to her on the bed. Clarke recoiled from habit, but was glad to have him so close despite the negative gesture.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Except her voice cracked. _Oh my god._ She hadn’t even noticed the silent tears falling down her cheeks. Was she really so overwhelmed that she had started crying without realizing it? Who did that? She did, apparently. _Shit._ How embarrassing. Clarke wiped her cheeks and exhaled loudly, forcing a smile. It didn’t take much effort; Bellamy’s proximity was nice enough to inspire such expression.

“You’re crying.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Did I say something?”

“No, no, you’re perfect.” Her eyes widened. Did she say that out loud?

Bellamy just laughed. “You’re ridiculous. If I was perfect I wouldn’t have made you cry.”

She laughed through a sob, then found herself crying harder for some reason unknown to her. Happiness wasn’t supposed to make someone cry; that only really happened in movies and books. That didn’t happen to her. If she had control over her body, it would have stopped by now. Poor Bellamy looked so uncomfortable, but despite that he had a gentle arm wrapped around her. _Perfect._

The arm pulled her into his shoulder. It was warm and strong. _Perfect._ Clarke took a deep breath, then another. In, and out. When she looked up, the perfect face was closer to hers; he looked so worried. She wanted to comfort him like he was attempting to do with her, and make him understand that she was honestly okay and her body was possessed or something; acting of its own will. Those eyes captivated her, but still got closer. Closer, closer.

Before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her.

Clarke almost couldn’t feel his soft, warm lips over the shock coursing through her body and muddling her brain. Almost. It felt like an eternity that his face was there against hers, together and connected; then suddenly he was gone and it felt like the most fleeting moment of her life.

Cheeks flushed, she let out an airy gasp, avoiding eye contact. He was right there. Bellamy was right there, still sitting inches away from her. In fact, she could feel his leg against hers. Right there. He had just kissed her. Kissed her. Sitting right there, lips still warm from kissing her.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

Clarke frowned and shook her head, still not able to raise her eyes to meet his. “Why? Don’t be.” Already, he was regretting it. She was so stupid. If only she had said something faster, or held it together longer, or just not been so emotional and immature he wouldn’t have to apologize. He didn’t have to apologize. If only she had been better, he wouldn’t feel the need to.

“I panicked.” Panic. Bellamy had kissed her out of panic. It could be worse; it could have been pity. “I wanted you to stop crying. Surprise seems to do the trick… Which it did, but I’m still sorry. That was out of line.”

Except it wasn’t. If she had pushed him away, or recoiled from him, or been made to feel unsafe or uncomfortable then maybe Bellamy would have been out of line in kissing her… but none of that was the case. He did nothing wrong. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

After a long silence, filled in her head by thoughts and images rushing around in a haze, her mind settled and his reason for concern clicked. “Oh.” She looked at him, his beautiful eyes dark and full of regret. He thought she would read into it. That she would take that as his own admission.

_How ridiculous._

She smiled. He looked confused. “I know you don’t feel the same way.” It was easier to say than she thought it would be. That had never been an option in her mind, not at all. “It was just… kind of nice.” He watched her, his expression still serious. Clarke’s smile broke under him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that”

Bellamy shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I just…” He looked away and sighed. Had she done something wrong? Her cheeks heated again. _Stupid, so stupid._ Maybe he wasn’t convinced. Would she still tell him, if she believed otherwise? Maybe. But she really hadn’t thought of it like that. She hadn’t been able to think of it at all; it was too much of a shock. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”

_The wrong way?_ “Okay.” Fear filled her chest, making her heart race faster than she was comfortable with. Her mind raced with all the possibilities, each worse than the next. He hated her. He wanted nothing to do with her. He needed her to leave. He needed her to stay away. She couldn’t be friends with Octavia anymore. She could never come to the house.

He sighed quickly, as if psyching himself up. “I want you to draw me.”

Clarke furrowed her eyebrows. How… unexpected. “I do draw you.” She didn’t understand what exactly he was saying. He wanted her to keep drawing him? Great. She didn’t want to stop. He hadn’t asked her to.

“No, I mean I want you to draw all of me. Not from memory. I want to be here when you draw me, as you see me.”

Heat warmed her cheeks yet again, and she knew they were bright red. She couldn’t meet his gaze, even though he was trying hard to lock eyes with her. That effort only made her face hotter. If her eyes weren’t still so dry from the tears they would have watered; probably profusely. “You want to model for me?” Her voice came out in a squeak.

“Yes.”

The thought was overwhelming. Never had she even imagined having him in front of her as she drew him. Well, no, of course she had, but only in her wildest dreams. “How?” Somehow it just didn’t make sense in her mind. The possibility didn’t connect. He would be there; right there. She would see his face and translate it to paper. She would see… the rest of him? No, he hadn’t said that specifically.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Her voice was a whisper. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing. Was she going to pass out? That had never happened before. Was she going to see Bellamy… well, all of him? No, he probably didn’t want that. That was stupid. He hadn’t said that. She was jumping to conclusions.

“I am comfortable being nude, if you are comfortable too. But I would take anything.” Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. _Holy shit._ “I’ll pay you, if you want. I’ve never asked someone to do this before.” He laughed. If she got paid did that make her a professional? This was so surreal. It felt like a dream. It had to be a dream.

“When?” She didn’t know what else to say. It was such an insignificant thought, but right now that mattered. How soon did she need to mentally prepare herself for this? Nothing was going to happen, that much she knew, but she would get to see him. All of him. She would get to see him and draw him. “Do you want to keep it?” It was stupid to think she would get to, especially when he had offered to pay. “You don’t have to pay me.”

“I’m flexible,” he said with a smile, then hesitated. “Actually, I do have a time limit before I go back to school. Before then.” He looked up and nodded, as if remembering her questions. Actually, that was probably exactly what he was doing. “I would like to keep it, but you can take a picture if you want. Who knows, it could end up in a portfolio.” Now that was a thought. “I want to pay you something, because I would like to keep it. But you can decide the sum. I insist.”

Clarke sat in silence with wide eyes, mulling everything over in her head again. So surreal. It must nearly be time for her to wake up. She would open her eyes and be in her bed and then the disappointment would come, because none of this was actually real. “Friday evening works. Make sure to get plenty of sleep. It will take a while.”

“I’m willing to do multiple sessions, if need be.”

Clarke nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Four hours later, she still hadn't woken up.

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been in a crazy hiatus lately. I feel bad about it, but life has been... well, tough. Stressful. Work and relationship stuff. Things happening and all that. Right now I'm trying to focus on me, and in doing that I've stumbled upon some more free time. I want to get back into writing. My main fic is more difficult to get back into, but I'm working on it. In the meantime, I'll be finishing up a lot more little ones that were in progress months ago when I took a break.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to be a better and more reliable poster very soon. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn't the next chapter of my long fic, so sorry to those of you who read it. I can't post that until it isn't trash. Writing little stuff makes it easier to write the big stuff, I promise. I'm working on it.
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy this.
> 
> I know Clarke is strong, but I do love writing insecurity.


End file.
